The Game
by skylar0rose
Summary: "Bitterness is a paralytic, Love is a much more vicious motivator."
1. Chapter 1

**{Hello! There will be an OC, I WILL put trigger warnings, there may be smut,Disclaimer, i do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters.I'm not that good with grammar sorry. I think that covered it? -mentions of drug use,death, mentions of depression.- Um yeah, Enjoy. }**

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><p><span>Case: A study in pink<span>

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><p>John looked at the dimly lit screen and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was up all night setting up his blog but something just didn't seem right with the way it was. It was grey and pretty boring color wise, but he liked the simplicity. He looked at his blog for a moment and sighed knowing he liked it and didn't want to mess it up, but also didn't want to leave it. He noticed the blank space to the side and scrolled through the options finding a 'counter'. He added it and felt relief wash over him as the page seemed more equal and balanced. He saved it just in case and smiled at his page. The counter was strange, apparently it counted views of the page but he was sure he wouldn't need it for this personal blog of his. He closed down his tabs and closed the computer feeling sick from that last adrenaline rush as he finished his page. Yes adrenaline rush. Yesterday's strange encounter with that man from the lab still ran through his head. The way he deduced him of almost everything he kept personal. He treated that poor girl so badly it made him feel bad. His hair was wild and his coat long. They called him <em>Sherlock<em>. John began to fall asleep to the thought of actually going over to 221B Baker St. tomorrow.

He had fallen into a restless sleep, it would have been better if he just stayed awake. Johns dreams had been plagued with nightmares that he wouldn't likely remember. He would just have the lingering taste of the dream when he awoke. His dreams were getting better but they never went away, he lied to the people around him. That's why he was so surprised at the man at the lab the other day for deducing him so well. His walls were up and his smile was painted on but he still came through with knowing about him.

Sherlock hasn't forgotten about John and is expecting his arrival. He was up playing his violin trying to keep his thoughts away. Like the saying goes, the happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts. Let's just say he is not what you would call a happy person. He was playing a new tune he was writing and it sounded beautiful to anyone else, but to him there was something missing. Something not right with the piece, it needed balance. He just played the part that he had over and over as he thought and looked at the notes deep into his mind place. He thought about John, the warrior for a while. He knew he would come over either from curiosity or out of plain stupidity. Most people, well scratch that everyone Sherlock met was significantly less smart then him. It made life a bit on the boring side for him. You would never guess how many drugs he has gone through, but still he has. He slowed the song down little by little as he though until he stopped completely and stood there for a few minutes. Sherlock Holmes in all of his glory playing a tune to put the nightmares to rest.

The night crept with all sorts of disgusting things and people, some of which were on the prowl. Their eyes scanning for prey. The 'hunter' looked from their dark corner of the room onto the dead body that was laying on the ground in a peaceful sleep like pose. They were in fact not sleeping though. Death has slipped in and claimed them and the dark figure just watched. Lately things have been going well for the killer. Everyone has a choice. This game we play is long and tiring most of the time. But other times it can be brilliant if you try. This is the second body and they didn't plan on stopping. They took the glass the dead woman drank from moments ago and all of the evidence that they were there in the first place before slipping away like it was nothing. No one was who they were, invisible to the outside world. As the body lay, the killer walked, and the men slept, the world kept spinning and we all kept playing the _game_.

Stopping under a very clichéd streetlight the figure pulled out their phone and reads the messages giving them detailed instructions.

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><p>: <strong>Dispose of the evidence before you even THINK of coming back here. If you come here and you leave anything traceable you are <em>dead<em>.** **Take it somewhere. Get back. Play the game and do so quickly. ~M:**

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><p>The figure exhaled causing a small cloud to come from their mouth. It was about an hour since that text was delivered, hopefully they do not get into much trouble. They put their phone away and went to look for a dumpster. The moon shone providing light to the killer, stepping so gingerly across the cold pavement. Cold like the dead body left like a present from a gleeful cat. They dumped the evidence into a dumpster before planting the fake evidence and walking back to their next destination. It was late and even killers needed sleep, but before they could they needed to get back. Back to reality. Before they got gunned down and the murder pinned on them, murder suicide would be easy to conjure up.. The far off sound of sirens alerted them to move faster and quit thinking about such small things for now. For now they would worry about the game, and who goes next.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**{A/N: Disclaimer I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters. I promised id put in potential triggers, mentions of homosexuality, mentions of murder, mentions of death, mentions of sickness mental/physical. I don't know if I got them all if I missed anything tell me. 3}**

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><p><span>Case: A Woman in Pink<span>

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><p>John woke up early and took a quiet cab over to 221B Baker Street. He had the bitter taste of nightmares lingering and tapped his cane to the thoughts floating around his head. He hadn't entertained the idea of going over to 221B thought. Maybe it was curiosity that was eating him up since yesterday. Although, curiosity killed the cat, He thought. John sighed as the cab pulled up to the destination. He paid the cabbie and got out trying not to strain his knee. He looked at the flats number for a moment, spacing out, before knocking. As if he materialized out of nowhere Sherlock walked a few steps and cleared his throat,<p>

"Hello John." He said quietly. Realistically he had gotten bored and just gotten back from the hospital. The hospital is a great place to steal body parts without anyone noticing. John jumped a bit when he realized that he was right behind him and stepped back from the door,

" Hey…yes..221B." He muttered. Sherlock only half listened and nodded,

"Yes, I get a reasonably good deal from my landlord Miss Hudson." He paused, " Her husband was going to be put to death for three charges of murder in Florida." He said knocking and opening the door giving no other explanation.

"Wait you stopped the execution?" He said following after him.

"Oh no, I insured it." He said smugly. John looked around taking in the god-awful décor.

Mrs. Hudson was in the hall and she waved a hello, " There's another room upstairs if you'll be needing one." She said sweetly.

" Well of course well be needing one. Right?" John said looking at Sherlock confused if he was gay. Sherlock said nothing and was spaced out about the so called suicides that were popping up. He knew there was something wrong with the case and only time will tell before he was called into the picture to help.

" That's alright dear, I don't discriminate. Miss Clara down in 2D is a…" She mouthed the word.

"…Nice place. " He said changing the subject awkwardly blushing.

" Could use a bit of cleaning.." John said at the same time Sherlock mumbled something and looked up surprised.

" Cleaning? Yes your right." He dashed about and moved books around mostly until there was enough room for john to sit down with his cane. Mrs. Hudson nodded and stood there.

" I just put the kettle on do you boys want tea?" She asked scratching at her wrists in a anxious way.

" Not now Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. She left the room nodding absentmindedly mumbling about tea.

" Is that… a skull?" He asked not really sure what to think about that.

" He's my friend." Sherlock said frankly . John smiled quickly and

" Sherlock! Sherlock.." Lestrade ,the detective inspector ran up the stairs and burst open through the door.

" Lastrade? Let me guess. You need my help." He said turning to him

John sat there the whole time confused about what was going on. Lastrade? Is this his lover? He shoulder have a chat with Mrs. Hudson sometime soon.

The detective inspector nodded, "There's another body we want you to come around and take a look." He was breathing heavily from running up the stairs.

" Who's working on medical staff? " He asked pursing his lips although he was elated to be asked to help with the case.

"Anderson."

Sherlock sighed loudly and dashed around to gather things, "I hate _Anderson_ he won't work with me."

" You don't need an assistant." Lastrade rolled his eyes and started to leave.

"I need an assistant." He went on.

Sherlock stopped and turned to the confused john, "Oh, you make yourself at home.." He looked around before running out the door after Lastrade.

Mrs. Hudson poked out of the kitchen and smiled, " He just dashes about doesn't he? Just like my husband.." She looked at john who was reading the paper on the case Sherlock just left to go help with and nodded, "I can see you're more of the sitting down type with that leg and all..." She nodded to herself.

"_Damn my leg_!" John shouted and held his leg making poor old Mrs. Hudson jump. " Don't worry dear I've got a hip…" She said cheerily and she stalked into the other room.

"I'd love some tea. " John said.

"Just this once dear I'm not your housekeeper. " She said from the other room.

"and some biscuits if you have any."

Sherlock opened the door and looked at john smugly, "John…" He said quietly. "You're a doctor right? "

John looked up quietly. "an army doctor." He stood and winced.

"You have seen people die? Loads of _gruesome disgusting_ deaths? "He leaned against the door frame.

John nodded and it was dead silent in that moment.

"want to see more?" Sherlock asked straightening up.

"Oh _hell_ yes." John nodded.

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><p>"You <em>thick-headed<em> monkey!" Spat the man. They were in the dark of a dank and empty warehouse somewhere people would never hear your screams. The only light was coming through the tarp covered windows. The figure on the floor was visibly shaking, scared of the angry man who was pacing back and forth like a mad-man.

"I did what you said to do! I did exactly what you said…" They were crying and you could tell from the shakiness in their words. The pacing figure stopped pacing and took a deep breath in,

"You_ ignorant_ ant, I told you to get rid of the evidence and you throw it in a dumpster. I told you to think. Use your brain and think. "He used his hands to gesture a lot when he spoke,"I gave you a benefit of the doubt and didn't kill you on sight.." He exhaled and looked at the quivering body, "I'm going to have to kill you now, my apologies. But it's all part of _the game_."

"Wait! What about my sister?" The man on the floor whimpered. " You said…You said.." His voice cracked with desperation.

The man who was psychotically ranting turned to him and smiled although you couldn't see it in the dark.

" I said I said…" He mocked in a loud whiney voice. Then his voice darkened and lowered, " I said to play the game. And it seems you my friend have just lost." He turned and there was a bang and then the sound of something dropping. " Your sister will be in good hands. _Trust me_." He said walking off.


End file.
